


Calm is the Viking

by iceyred



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Bad Cooking, But can be read as M/M, Gen, M/M, Spanking threat, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:50:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceyred/pseuds/iceyred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Athelstan accidentally throws out the food Lagertha cooked, and subsequently finds out how she and Ragnar met. </p><p>Contains the threat of spanking, but no actual spanking. Sorry. I'm disappointed too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calm is the Viking

When Lagertha came after him, Athelstan made like a rabbit and ran. He bolted out the door and was halfway to the beach before daring to look behind him. She was far too close. He kept running.  


Ragnar was repairing a fishing net. He stood when they came running. Seeing a human shield, Athelstan ran behind him, putting the Viking between himself and the angry woman. They danced around the man for a few moments; she snarled like a she-bear, he feared for his life. Ragnar opened his mouth to question the fight, but was repeatedly cut off.  


“You’re dead, Priest! That was our supper for the night.”  


“It was an accident,” Athelstan said. “I thought it was pig slop.”  


Lagertha’s snarls became more vicious and she lunged for him. Her husband caught her around the waist at the last second, before her fingernails could dig into Athelstan’s eyes. They fought for a moment, until he kissed her. Athelstan looked away as the Vikings explored each other’s mouths, letting the heat and anger turn to lust and satisfaction. When they finally broke apart, she slapped her husband. 

“That was for distracting me. You.” She glowered at Athelstan. “You’re still dead.”  


“Wait, wait, wait.” Ragnar, who was the most infuriating man Athelstan had ever met (and he suspected Lagertha could say the same) sounded amused. “Why do we need to kill the Priest, hmm? Who would take care of the children if we did?”  


“If Floki can build you a new boat then he can find us someone to watch the children! He threw dinner to the pigs!”  


“It was sitting in the pan by the window,” Athelstan shouted.  


“It was cooling!”  


“It didn’t look like anything you’ve ever made before.”  


“It was a new dish!”  


“It smelled like pig slop!”  


“I will make it again,” Lagertha said through clenched teeth. “And use your blood for seasoning.”  


“Enough.” Ragnar shouted loud enough to make the fighting stop. “Enough,” he said a little more quietly. “Lagertha, my lovely wife…”  


“Don’t you sweet talk me, you…”  


“The priest is still new to our land. He does not recognize every delicious dish you cook. If you killed him, then who would do the washing? Who would gather firewood?”  


“We got on well enough before him.”  


“That was before the West made me rich. A rich man needs slaves. The priest will live.” Any relief Athelstan felt at those words died when Ragnar turned to him. “We do not waste food, Priest. And insulting my wife’s cooking is as good as insulting my wife.”  


“That wasn’t what I…”  


“Quiet.” Ragnar took his arm. “We have business.”  


“With your belt?” Lagertha asked in a way that meant she wasn’t asking but telling.  


“With my hand.”  


“Belt.”  


“Hand. Do you doubt the strength of my hand, wife?”  


She smiled like an axe, beautiful and ready to kill. “You won’t feel the grip of my hand for many moons if he doesn’t come out of the shed in tears.” She demonstrated just where he wouldn’t feel her grip in a manner that made him jump and Athelstan blush.  


Ragnar cleared his throat and nodded. Without another word he dragged the priest toward the shed.  


The shed had been cleaned since summer started. The animals didn’t spend the night as often and there was clean, new hay on the ground. It smelled a little better. Ragnar shut the door behind them and leaned against it.  


“What a woman! What a wife! How did I get so lucky, Priest? Can your god tell me that?”  


Athelstan shook his head. He wondered if Ragnar expected him to put his hands on the wall again. That’s what had happened last time, but the Viking had used his belt then. Now, it was just his hand. Athelstan wasn’t familiar enough with corporal punishment to know if that would be any different.  


Stupid pigs and their hungry grunting. How was he to know the foul smelling mess in the pot was for dinner and not for them? It was unfair. He had made mistakes at the monastery, not rising early enough, writing the wrong prayer in a book, forgetting some chore or another. But he had always been given the chance to explain. To make up for his mistake.  


“Why so upset?” Ragnar asked. Almost immediately he smacked his palm against his forehead. “Of course. Don’t worry. I’m not whipping you over that.”  


“You’re not?”  


“I did not marry her for her cooking. If you thought it smelled like it belonged to the pigs then we probably shouldn’t eat it.”  


Athelstan frowned. “But, her other meals have been well enough.”  


“That was Gyda’s cooking.”  


“Oh.” That explained why the girl was always in the kitchen. For some reason it hadn’t occurred to Athelstan to question why he never saw Lagertha do anything more complicated than stir the soup or cut the meat.  


“She’s sensitive.” Ragnar settled down with his back against the wall. “If we wait, she will calm down.”  


‘Sensitive’ and ‘calm’ were two words Athelstan would never have used to describe the warrior woman. “Why can’t she cook?”  


A shrug. “She can cut through a man like a hot knife through soft cheese. She can bring a shield down so hard it will break bones. She can work the fields like a man. She can fish. She can sew. But cooking? When I took her for my wife, her mother warned me. She’ll use the wrong spices. Cook the meat too long. Put too much water in the pot. She said I would have to be the one to cook. I told her I wasn’t marrying for a full belly. If a woman could do everything and cook, then the gods would want her for themselves.”  


“Why did you marry her?” It was an awfully personal question, but he wasn’t being whipped and Ragnar was in a good enough mood that he might answer. Besides, he was curious.  


“Ahhhhhh.” Ragnar looked satisfied. “I saw her fighting. It was on the shores of…somewhere. Can’t remember. But she was cutting open a man and she did it so beautifully. His blood stained her boots. Any other shield maiden would have stepped back, afraid of a little river of red.”  


“I would think the other shield maidens would stay behind the shields.”  


Ragnar shrugged. “Women of that nature are not normally content unless they have both shield and sword in their hands. Anyways, before the first man fell she turned around and skewered another. I knew then that I had to have her in my bed. So that night I approached her. And she threatened to use my guts for ship rope.”  


“How romantic.”  


The Viking tapped Athelstan’s hip. The slap wasn’t hard enough to hurt but it was firm. “Careful, Little Priest. It’s not wise to mock how a man falls in love. You’ll learn that when you meet someone.”  


“Love is for men who aren’t priests.” Despite the not-really-chastisement, he edged a little closer to Ragnar. “What does a man in love with a woman who wants his guts for rope do?”  


“He brings her a gold bracelet and professes his love. When she throws it in a lake, he brings her flowers. When she throws them in the mud, he tells her he loves her and will marry her or may Odin bar him from Valhalla.”  


“And then?”  


“Then her father chased me off their farm. He didn’t like me as much as her mother did. It took a few more promises of eternal devotion before he admitted I didn’t deserve to be food for Fenrir.” Without either of them realizing it, Ragnar had begun running his fingers through Athelstan’s hair. “It took me more than a year to convince her to marry me. But it was worth it. Even if she can’t cook.” His finger tapped the priest’s head several times. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on. The love of a woman…”  


“Can’t compare to the love of our Lord and Savior.”  


“Ah, but my wife’s love means a warm bed, nails on my back, and teeth on my shoulder. Her love means my children, warm clothes, and someone waiting for me when I return home. Your god doesn’t visit you at night, does he? He doesn’t give you little ones. He doesn’t…”  


Athelstan pulled away, unwilling to hear more about all the things he didn’t have. “If you’re not going to whip me, then can I go now?”  


“No.” A hand snaked around his waist and pulled the priest onto Ragnar’s lap. “You look like someone kicked your dog, not like a boy who just felt his master’s hand.”  


Being this close to the Viking was uncomfortable and probably sinful. Athelstan tried to wiggle away but the strong arms held him tight. “I’m not a boy.”  


“Of course not,” Ragnar said in the most condescending way possible. “Try sniffling. If you don’t go out of here looking like your backside is red and sore, she’ll know something is wrong. Then we’ll both be sorry. ”  


Athelstan sniffled and rubbed his eyes to make them redder. “How’s that?”  


“Better, better. Can you make your eyes wet? I’m not in favor of encouraging tears, but…” He trailed off.  


Athelstand fanned his hands in front of his eyes and kept sniffling. “Better?”  


“A little. Wait.” Ragnar stretched his long body to the side and dipped his hand in a pail of water meant for a cow to drink from. He then held his hand close to Athelstan’s face.  


The priest was having none of it and jerked away. “That’s disgusting.”  


“Hold still.”  


“Ragnar, no.”  


“Priest, yes.”  


“The cow spits in that bucket!”  


“You can deal with the cow spit, or you can feel my hand. Your choice.”  


“You are a twisted man and I pray God will save your soul lest it rot in hell.”  


“Is that a no?”  


Athelstan sighed. “It’s a yes.” He let the Viking dibble the water around his eyes. After a few more practice sniffles, they left the barn.  


The next few dinners were edible. Gyda had not inherited her mother’s talent for ruining simple dishes. Guilt settled in Athelstan’s stomach every time he swallowed a piece of fresh bread. It gurgled next to boiled fish, and threatened to jump into his throat every time Lagertha looked at him.  


This went on for a week. Finally, tired of his food doing calisthenics in his stomach, he approached her. She was washing clothes in the fjord, her back turned to the house and to him.  


“What do you want?” she asked, without turning around.  


Athelstan steadied his heart rate by telling himself that she had just heard him walking. Rocks clicked when tred upon, his breathing was loud, his clothes rustled. She was not a demon who could shred him with her claws, no, not at all. He suddenly remembered Ragnar’s story of meeting her while she was skewering a man.  


Swallowing his fear, he straightened his shoulders and looked her in the eye. “I’m sorry I threw out the meal you made. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” There. It was said. He closed his eyes and waited for the slap, the punch, the hit.  


Instead he felt a hand on his shoulder. Hesitantly, he cracked on eye open.  


“Don’t be such a scared rabbit, Priest. Gyda cooked us a good dinner and there was no lasting harm done.” She gave him an embarrassed but affectionate smile. And after a moment he smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit of fluff. Lagertha is a great character and I wanted to see how she'd respond to a weakness.


End file.
